In a Pickle
by EllisBelle
Summary: Finally Updated Again Iris deals with her guilt over sacrificing the children and must confess another sin to Justin, a sin in which he too shares responsibility.
1. A Million Shining Pieces

Fine Print: I own neither _Carnivale_ nor Justin and Iris; that privilege belongs to HBO and Daniel Knauf.

In a Pickle 

By EllisBelle

**Chapter 1: A Million Shining Pieces**

Iris Crowe was in the proverbial pickle. Another morning of eating breakfast in silence, staring at one another coldly across the table had driven her to call and arrange to have lunch with Tommy Dolan on Friday. Another fight with Justin about Tommy Dolan had sent her out of their house and into town today. She felt like buying something frivolous. Maybe a new dress for Friday. Not that she gave a damn about Tommy Dolan. She was honest enough with herself to admit that the real reason she kept seeing Dolan was to make Justin jealous. It was one of the few emotions other than outright anger that she got from him these days. But they did still need his help with the radio ministry. And he knew about the fire, or at least he thought he did. He believed Justin himself had burned down the ministry. If he only knew the truth. _A small hand fallen from under the sheet, five perfect fingers now peeled, bleeding and burnt, raw flesh mixing with the dust in the street._ She pushed the unbidden image of the children lying together outside the ruined building from her mind. Why couldn't Justin see that it had all been for him?

Trying to make her way into the general store, she was blocked by a woman, obviously an immigrant, frantically gesturing at a shop clerk while balancing a baby on her hip. The clerk looked angry. The woman appeared upset and frustrated as she babbled on in Russian. The clerk spoke louder in English as if that could make the woman understand his words somehow. Though she was really in no mood for the trouble, Iris felt sorry for the young mother. She placed a hand on the woman's arm and asked in halting Russian if she could help. It had been decades since she had spoken more than a few words in her native tongue, but she managed to communicate with the woman. Smiling, grateful that someone understood her, the woman explained that she was simply trying to pay for a bundle of muslin, but she did not understand what the clerk was saying to her. "How much is the material?" Iris asked. "She just wants to pay for it." A simple matter soon sorted out.

Without warning the woman handed the baby to Iris. "No, I don't want . . ." Iris protested too late as she found herself in possession of the squirming baby boy. His mother smiled and fished in her pockets for the money to pay the clerk. Iris held him stiffly as if she were afraid he might bite her. She watched him closely, taking in his pale blond hair and dark blue eyes. He stared up at the sky, sucking on a tiny fist, the picture of innocence.

She wondered if there was ever a time when she had been this innocent. Even in the six short years before her brother had been born, she had felt somehow different. Special. Touched. Sometimes even cursed. She could sense what others were feeling. At first she thought everyone could do this. Her mother's shocked, frightened face taught her different. So she stopped mentioning it. And felt alone until he was born. Her brother. Alexsei. He was like her. She knew from the moment she peeked into his cradle and his dark, knowing eyes met hers. Alexsei was special too. Maybe even more so than she. Her father knew this too. Her father had always frightened her. Not that he was with them very often. She never knew what it was that kept him away from home so often. But she was glad when he wasn't there. Her father was a serious man, a soldier. She remembers the only time she heard him laugh. It was when Alexsei was born. The cold sound had made her shiver, made her cringe and want to hide. But she watched her father until he gave Alexsei back to their mother. After her brother was born, her father was at home more often. He watched her brother, as if waiting for a sign. This frightened her even more. It frightened her mother too.

_Her parents were fighting again. Her mother was yelling at her father, screaming and crying and praying all in the same breathe. Irina ran to the nursery and hid, squeezed herself into a corner between a dresser and the wall. She covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the noise of the fight downstairs. Through her tears she could see Alexsei, reflected in the glass of a mirror, flailing and screaming in his crib across the room. She pushed her hands harder against her ears, clenching her teeth, shutting her eyes tight. Willing blackness and quiet out of the turmoil. Just then the sound of breaking glass rose above the other noises. She opened her eyes to see that the mirror had shattered, covering the floor in a million shining pieces. She never knew how she had understood, but she knew that Alexsei had done this. Somehow her infant brother had broken the glass. She slowly came out of her hiding place and carefully walked across the room, broken glass crunching under her shoes with each step. She stood over him, looking into his wailing red face. She used the sleeve of her dress to wipe her own face. Then she picked the squirming form up and held him in her arms. His crying stopped instantly and was replaced by a sort of gurgling baby laugh. As she stared down into his face, she had to laugh too. She didn't hear her mother's pleading voice, the muffled sound of a fist against soft flesh, or the echo of a door slamming. As she rocked him softly in her arms, she heard one word. Together._

The baby in Iris's arms squealed sharply. She shifted him in her arms and smiled down at him, trailing a finger down his soft, chubby cheek. Her finger left a line of dark red blood against his pale skin. She gasped in horror as the baby's flesh burnt and peeled, red and raw. She closed her eyes, fighting back the bile rising in her throat. She looked back down at the now cooing infant, healthy and rosy. She practically shoved him back into his mother's arms as she ran towards the end of the street to her car.


	2. How could you?

_**Chapter 2: How could you?**_

The tears finally blinded Iris's eyes as she parked the black Ford in front of their house. She continued to grip the steering wheel, her knuckles turning white, as sobs wracked her frame. How could Justin think that she did not care, that she did not feel any guilt over her actions? That she felt no remorse. He didn't know how she still saw their faces, in the faces of every child she met. Saw each healthy, happy body turned suddenly red and raw and burnt. No, she knew and felt exactly what she had done. Killed—sacrificed—eight innocent lives. He didn't know how hard she prayed every night for God to understand why she had to do it. Those weeks that he had been gone, she knew that God was punishing her. He had taken away the one thing that mattered. And now even though Justin was back safe at home and ready to embrace his destiny, he had been taken away from her again. By her own actions. By her confession. She felt as if she had lost him forever, even though he sat across from her every evening at the dinner table and slept a room away every night. He hadn't touched her, hadn't smiled at her. Not since the night she tried to explain about the fire. He had been distant and moody, recoiling from her whenever she tried to close the growing distance between them. He was deliberately trying to hurt her, to punish her. He was trying to hurt her when he callously offered her to Tommy Dolan, like mere chattel, and not his own flesh and blood. Her face still burned at the memory. And now three months later, she had another secret that she was sick at the thought of telling him. God's own sick joke. She leaned over the wheel and cried until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

_She felt him wash through her mind then suddenly pull back as if burnt by the flames from the very vision he called up. He kissed her then, but it wasn't like before. For a second she thought that he had forgiven her, that he realized she had only done it for him. But this kiss wasn't like the others. He kissed her so hard she couldn't breathe. And she was afraid that this was what he meant to do. To crush the miserable life out of her. Then he pushed her away. Shoved her down onto the couch so that she lay gasping as he loomed above her. For the first time in her life, she was truly afraid of her brother. Afraid of what he might do to her in his anger and disgust. She, more than any other person, knew what Justin Crowe was capable of when overwhelmed with anger. She heard the sound of a neck breaking somewhere over the sounds of Justin's ragged breath, as he leaned over her now, pushing her roughly back into the pillows. _

_And yet for_ _all her fear, part of her welcomed him. Believed that if she could just get him in her arms_ _and inside her again, that she could make it better between them. That he would understand why she had to do it and he would forgive her of her sins. So she lay still and watched as his hands pulled at the tie of her robe and tore at the buttons on her gown. And she fought a shiver as the cold night air hitting her breasts was replaced by his warm mouth, bruising and biting at her pale skin. And she didn't fight when he wrenched up her gown and shoved her thighs apart. Tried not to struggle when his hand snaked around her throat, pinning her to the sofa. Bit her lip when he entered her suddenly. Clenched her fists and fought the urge to shove in vain against his chest as he ground himself into her again and again. And she tried not to think about the first time she had felt him move inside her. But she couldn't convince herself that this would not change everything between them. _

"_Justin, no. Please don't do this," she whispered hoarsely as his hand pushed harder against her throat. "Please, Alexsei." He stopped and looked up to meet her eyes. She saw something in them soften. But just as quickly it was gone and he pushed into her harder, painfully, one hand digging into her hip, holding her against him. His other hand tightening around her throat, until she couldn't breathe, couldn't scream. _

_Before the room started to go black, before he finally came inside her, she looked into his eyes and saw only darkness. _

"_Irina, how could you?"_

_She felt the sofa shift as he stood up and straightened his clothes, fastening his pants and pulling his suspenders over his arms. He walked out of the room without looking at her again or saying another word. She felt naked and alone and empty. She lay on the sofa listening to the sound of her own breathing. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried in vain to swallow the sob that tore from her throat. _


	3. We're in this together

**Chapter 3: We're in this together**

"_Irina, how could you?"_

"Iris?" his voice cutting through the fog in her mind. "Iris, what happened?" Justin was opening the door of the car. He was prying her fingers from the wheel and pulling her into his arms. She felt the familiar tugging at the edge of her mind as he tried to read her. Iris shook her head, trying to push him away. He stood up and pulled her to her feet with him. She stumbled back and looked as if she were going to faint. She couldn't stop him, didn't protest, when he lifted her up and carried her into the house.

Once inside, he sat her down in his chair and kneeled in front of her. "Iris, look at me," he pleaded. "Tell me what's wrong." She only seemed to draw further in on herself, folding her arms around her chest. "Did someone hurt you?" He frantically looked her over for any signs of outward injury. Seeing none, he touched her cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. When she flinched, he pressed harder with his mind, determined to find out what was wrong. She closed her eyes in response and pressed her hands against her ears, trying to stop the assault. He pulled her hands away from her face, holding them briefly in his own. Then, catching her face in his hands, he forced her to meet his gaze. "_Irina_, please." Too exhausted to fight him any longer, Iris sighed and leaned her forehead against her brother's, letting all her defenses fall away.

--_Glass shining on the floor—laughter—choking, swallowing water—fighting to find the surface out of the blackness—the snap of a neck twisted unnaturally—"Are you a man of God?"—lights from the Ferris wheel—lips that taste like a candied apple—the snap of a chicken's head between the Geek's teeth—"We're in this together"—biting her lip to silence a moan—"Irina"—leather licking against flesh, drawing blood—"Faith and action"—spark of a struck match—little faces—soft hands—the smell of burnt flesh—falling, broken, on their knees—"Pray to God but row for shore"—empty room—forsaken—Tommy Dolan kissing her goodnight—"But Iris, the children . . ."—gasping for breathe, pressed down by his weight—black empty eyes—"Irina, how could you?"—the crowd gathering—'The clock is ticking"—Sick, so sick, lying beside the tub—"Please, God, no. It's not possible"—_

He jerked away from her, eyes wide in disbelief, "You're . . ."

She nodded weakly and stood up, moving to stand in front of him. "I don't know how it's even possible. But I'll," she stammered, "I can go away. Go to another town until . . ." She stopped, trying desperately to read his emotions, but his face was a blank and his mind was closed off. "I won't let it interfere with your ministry." He didn't answer, only sunk back against the chair. She felt as if she stood there frozen for an eternity. When she finally felt his hand against her hip, she started and began to take a step back from him, afraid of his reaction. With both hands, he pulled her towards him, until his face was inches from her body. She looked down into his dark eyes and was surprised to see not anger or disgust but a familiar expression of vulnerability, the same look he had worn the night he told her of his plans to build a church for the migrants.

"Promise me you never let him touch you."

"I've told you everything that happened. You saw it. You know I wouldn't . . ." Her words were cut off as he suddenly pulled her against him, burying his face in her dress, against her abdomen.

His hands clutched at her lower back, as his body shook with emotion. "You won't leave." She ran her hands through his hair, pulling him closer in answer.

_We're in this together._


	4. Only a dream

_**Chapter 4: Only a Dream**_

_He stood in front of an ancient, gnarled tree in the desert. He looked down at his hands and saw thick black blood pouring out of his palms. Her blood on his hands—in his veins. She was screaming in pain, her red hair sticking to her neck and forehead. Lines of bright red blood curved down her thighs. He looked down at the infant in his arms. It opened its eyes. Dark, black, soulless eyes. _

"Justin!"

He sat up in bed, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. He felt Iris's hands, cool on his skin, soothing across his face and chest. "Shhh." She kissed his face, his neck. Trailed her fingers down the back of his neck, traced the thin lines of scars across his back. "Shhh. It was only a dream." He let her pull him back down into the bed, let her gather him into the familiar comfort of her arms. How many times in their life had she done this, he wondered? Except this time when he relaxed into her embrace, he met naked skin, slick with sweat. He kissed her throat; he tasted the dip above her collarbone. Let his hands roam over her body. Made love to her slowly. Baptized. Letting every moan, every gasp, every shudder, wash away all thoughts of sin, of inescapable destiny.

After Iris had fallen asleep again, hugged against his chest, Justin brushed his palm across the slope of her hip, then downward to rest his left hand carefully over the place where his child was already growing. After a moment's concentration, he smiled into the darkness. "A shining kingdom on a hill to inherit."


	5. Strange Patterns

The Fine Print: DK and HBO own _Carnivale_ and our favorite ambiguously (yeah, right) incestuous couple.

Note: This chapter is incredibly short, more like a little scene than an actual chapter. But I haven't updated this story in ages and I've gotten very into it again. So more, longer, chapters will be coming soon—some even containing plot. I just felt like putting it up to celebrate my girl Iris's having survived season two.

**In a Pickle**

By EllisBelle

Chapter Five: Strange Patterns

The next day Justin watched as the morning sun shining through the lace curtains made strange patterns across Iris's skin, almost like the tangled branches of a tree against the pale vista of her back. He ran his fingers along the shadows until she stirred. As she woke up, he watched with amusement as Iris took in her surroundings and slowly realized where she was. Color flooding her cheeks, she looked at him with a weak smile, pulling the sheet up around her.

It was always the same with them in the light of morning. Blushes and guilt. And shame and silence. Prayer and punishment. But now he didn't care. Knowledge of his destiny, of his inescapable part in the divine plan had put it into perspective. Adultery. Incest. Ugly words, but they had lost their sting.

Now he watched her without remorse. He watched as she slid out of bed wrapped in the sheet and found her slip from the night before. Watched as she pulled it over her head and smoothed it down her body. Justin knew that Iris was avoiding meeting his eyes with her own. But he could tell that she was aware of his eyes on her body. Her watched as her breasts rose and fell, tremulously with each breath.

But no matter how she pretended, the proof of their actions were written across her body. Undeniable proof growing inside her.

She glanced back over at him briefly, biting at her lip, as if she were trying to make some decision. She looked away again then retreated through the door.

"After lunch I want to show you where we will build our new church," Justin called from the bed as she hurried to her own room. He lay in the bed for a moment and ran his hand over the place she had left empty, over the sheets that were still warm from her body. He frowned for a moment, then sat up and crossed the room to find his pajama bottoms. He had let her play their usual game long enough. Pulling on his robe, he followed after his sister.

Finding the door ajar, he slipped into her room without knocking, standing unnoticed at the doorway.

Iris stood in front of the mirror, intent on her reflection. Her fingers brushed against a purple bruise on her throat, before her hands came to rest on her abdomen.

She didn't flinch as his hand suddenly covered hers, didn't seem surprised as his larger body loomed behind her, draping her in his shadow. Her eyes darted up to the mirror to meet his. Justin felt her body lean into his and he bent to kiss her neck at the spot where her fingers had just been. His lips aggravated the bruise, teased the sensitive skin, making her sigh.


	6. Nothing to Tell

**In a Pickle**

**By EllisBelle**

Chapter 6: Nothing to Tell

As Iris sat in front of her vanity pinning up her hair, her attention was drawn reluctantly once again to the dark figure stalking past her doorway. It was no more than a brief shadow in the cold reflection of the mirror but her skin pricked at the sight of it.

She glanced down at her watch—that was the third time Justin had walked past in less than half an hour. She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, trying to collect herself. Opening her eyes and staring at her reflection, she leaned towards the mirror to fuss with the collar of her dress, checking once again to see that it hid the angry bruise at the base of her throat. When she heard Justin's footsteps retreating down the stairs, Iris stood up and squared her shoulders.

She followed the sounds of movement through the living room and into the kitchen until she found her brother. Justin stood nursing a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter. Despite his air of indifference, she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was upset with her. He didn't speak or look at her, made no effort to even acknowledge that she had come into the room. Laying her coat across the nearest chair, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, waiting for some reaction. Finally, when none was forthcoming, she sighed in irritation.

Justin looked up then, a certain smugness creeping across his features, as if he were one move away from declaring checkmate.

"You are being childish," Iris scolded. She knew that more and more Justin hated to be reminded of her status as elder sibling and the last threads of power that entailed between them.

He merely continued to stare silently at her ignoring her biting words.

"If you wanted me to cancel, you should have told me earlier," she stated matter-of-factly . "He's going to be here anytime now."

Justin took another slow sip of coffee, watching her over the mug all the while.

Iris shook her head and set her jaw stubbornly. She stalked out of the kitchen and into the living room to wait for her "date"—Tommy Dolan.

She had honestly forgotten about dinner with Tommy until a couple of hours earlier and by then it was too late to cancel. Maybe she would have even claimed to be ill when he came to pick her up, but she felt the unfamiliar need to get out of the house to clear her head. She begrudgingly admitted that it was really Justin that she needed to get away from for a few hours.

So much had happened in the short span of just 24 hours—Justin knew that she was carrying his child, had accepted it with elation instead of fury—they had come together once again, all through the night and even in the forbidden light of morning. Something had changed between them—something welcome, yet still unsettling. Some unspoken admission between them that threatened to change everything for better or for worse.

After lunch he had driven her outside of town, had shown her the site for the new church—their temple—the one they would build together. His eyes had glowed with a wondrous excitement that she hadn't seen since before the fire. The feeling of awe that he inspired—the one that she had feared lost—came flooding back to her as she watched him; her love for him burned through her again, until she was sure that he would be able to feel it as he took her hand in his and showed her the glorious sight before them.

The sharp ringing of the doorbell interrupted Iris's thoughts. She started towards the door only to see that Justin was already opening it, smiling through the screen at Tommy Dolan. Iris recognized that smile as the one her brother often wore when dealing with frustrating members of his church board.

Oblivious, Tommy smiled broadly at Justin. "Hi there, Brother Justin." Tommy raised his eyebrows in anticipation as he asked, "Is Iris ready?"

Justin's smile faded as he stared down at the other man. "Dolan." He looked over his shoulder at Iris, noting first her nervous expression, then letting his gaze fall to the places that the midnight blue material of her dress hugged close to her figure. His eyes narrowed. He looked back to Tommy. An awkward beat passed before Justin stepped away from the door and allowed Tommy to enter. "Yes, I believe she is."

Tommy grinned as he saw Iris standing in the living room. "Iris," he called as he walked over to her, "you look just wonderful." Iris smiled at him but quickly glanced again to her brother, who was standing now at her side. Sensing but not understanding the tension between the siblings, Tommy looked from Iris to Justin. He took a step closer to Iris. "Well, if you're ready, we should get going," Tommy suggested, holding out his arm in invitation.

Justin's lips thinned and he left the room without another word.

Iris smiled, taking Tommy's arm, trying to cover her discomfort. "Oh, my coat—just a second," she said, hurrying towards the kitchen. She gasped as she entered the kitchen and saw Justin standing with her coat in hand. She smiled faintly up at him and held out her hand to take it from him. Ignoring her, Justin moved to stand behind her, holding open the coat as she slid her arms into it. His hand brushed against the back of her neck to lift from beneath the wool collar the soft red strands that always escaped to curl across her skin. His other hand slipped inside her coat to linger over her abdomen, his touch warming her skin through the fabric. Iris barely managed to resist leaning back into his arms, but she wasn't able to swallow the sigh that escaped her lips at his possessive gesture. She froze as she felt his breath at her ear, his lips barely grazing her skin.

"Have a nice time, dear," he whispered.

She turned to face him but he was already disappearing into his study, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

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Dinner had actually been—pleasant, Iris thought as she stared out at the passing stars in the night sky as Tommy drove her home. She had been surprised at how hungry she was when her food arrived. She had eaten like a famished person, much to Tommy's amusement. A small smile threatened the corner of her mouth now as she thought of the reasons for her appetite. And Tommy had been charming as always. He had done most of the talking, entertaining her with stories about the unusual people he met on the road doing his show, trying to shock her with bits of juicy Hollywood gossip. Iris traced her index finger along the cool glass of the window beside her and glanced over at Tommy. Somehow he had known to avoid talking about her brother's radio ministry tonight. She was grateful for that.

It took Iris a moment to realize that the car had stopped. She looked around, expecting to see her street but saw only darkness surrounding them. She turned back to Tommy, confusion plain in her face.

Tommy turned towards her, laying his arm across the back of the seat as he smiled tenderly at her. Iris watched each of his movements carefully, her eyes taking on a steely, guarded edge. When he leaned closer to her, she resisted the urge to retreat instinctively back against her door. Tommy looked away from her, seeming to notice the stars in the clear sky for the first time that night. "Iris, there's something I should tell you."

She made no answer, just studied his face closely.

"It's a sin to lie, right?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then I've sinned," he admitted, looking back at her for her reaction.

She drew a deep breath. "We all have," she answered sincerely, her hand falling from the window to her lap.

"That we have," he chuckled. "But—you see, I've lied to your brother." Iris's eyes narrowed defensively at the mention of Justin. She drew herself up, straightening her posture.

"When he asked me," Tommy continued, looking into her eyes, "When Brother Justin asked me that day if I wanted you—I lied." His left hand came to rest gingerly on her knee. She stared down detachedly at his fingers laying across the dark fabric. "I do want you, Iris." He waited for her reaction.

Her fingers wondered underneath her collar to find the small tender spot at her throat, one finger kneading into it, causing a clarifying twinge of pain. "_Lust_ is a sin."

"But it's not just lust."

She looked sharply up at him; her eyes widening as she realized what he was saying. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out. Tommy leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. She put her hand against his chest and pushed him back. "I'm flattered, really I am," she finally began, her voice sounding alien even to her, "but I can't. It's just not right." She turned her shoulder to him and looked back out the window. "I'm sorry—please just take me home now." Tense silence fell over the car and held sway until they found themselves once again in front of the house she shared with her brother.

"Shit," Tommy mumbled under his breath as he watched Iris open her door and get out without speaking. "Iris!" Tommy called out the window. Without looking back, she shook her head "no" and hurried up the steps.

Iris closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, bringing her hands to her chest, palms together as if in prayer.

"Did you have a nice time, dear?"

She followed the sound of his voice to see Justin sitting in his chair, dressed in his pajamas and robe, reading a newspaper spread out before him.

She ran her hand across her forehead. "I suppose so," she answered, willing her voice to sound indifferent. She didn't want to face him. She looked towards the stairs, but the rattle of the newspaper brought her attention back to Justin.

He folded the paper neatly and tossed it into the floor beside his chair. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, before focusing his eyes intently on her. Iris could feel him pulling at her from across the room. She took off her coat and hung it on the rack before nervously walking over to sit in her usual spot on the couch.

"No, come here," he said. Swallowing, her throat suddenly gone dry, Iris studied the pattern on the arm of the couch for a moment before she brought herself to reluctantly wait beside his chair. He caught her wrist in his hand, drawing her closer to him, until she stood against his knees. He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her down into his lap. Iris flushed, and looked anxiously over at the window to the street, noticing that the curtains were not drawn and that anyone passing by could see them. Anticipating her protest, Justin wrapped his arm around her waist and held her to him. "Now," he said, shifting her hips to a more comfortable position and settling his other hand on her thigh, "tell me all about your date."

Iris was afraid to find out where this conversation was going. "There's nothing to tell really."

"Oh, come now. There must be something." Iris felt chilled by the eerie calm in his voice. Her eyes focused on the curve of his lips as he smiled down at her. She was reminded suddenly of that story Rose used to tell them about the wolf who wore sheep's clothing.

"We had dinner," she answered finally.

"Where?"

"At that new place that just opened outside of town."

He looked expectantly at her. "And?"

"We talked and had dinner."

"What did you talk about?" he questioned

"Nothing special."

"You keep saying that." He looked at her, waiting.

"We talked about his show mostly—and Los Angeles," Iris said with a frustrated sigh.

"And after dinner? What did you do then?"

"He drove me home." As soon as she had spoken, Iris knew that she had answered too quickly. Justin's eyes bore suspiciously into hers.

"Nothing else, then?"

"No."

He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin. "Don't lie to me, 'Ira."

Her mouth moved but no sound came out for a moment as she tried to figure out what he wanted to hear. "Justin, why?" She tried to pull away from him but he held her fast. "Why are you doing this?"

He didn't answer, just held her tighter. "You know he doesn't—matter," she said, her voice on the edge of breaking.

"Tell me about the drive home," Justin commanded evenly, his hand tracing slow, distracting circles on her thigh.

"Justin," she pleaded but knew it was no use to try to hide anything from him. "He stopped the car and we talked—He said that he lied that day. When you asked if he wanted me." Her cheeks burned, a knot of anger still at the back of her throat as she recalled the humiliation of that scene. "And he kissed me again." Iris felt Justin's hand on her leg stop its careless circuits, as he clenched the material of her dress into his fist. She took a small measure of satisfaction at knowing her blow had hit home.

The persistent ticking of the hall clock seemed to grow louder over the next few minutes, drawing attention to the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them.

"I don't want you to see him anymore." The mocking objectivity that had cloaked his voice was gone, leaving it sounding naked and vulnerable.

Looking back at her brother, Iris almost expected to see the wide-eyed little Alexei who had hovered behind her that night at the river, clinging to her skirts, instead of the frightening Brother Justin Crowe he had become over the past few months. In that instant Iris realized that the ever-shifting tide of control had drifted back to her. She relaxed into him, resting her head on his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heart beat, sure that it was once again beating in time with her own. She laid her hand over his larger one, lacing her fingers through his. "I'm not planning to."


	7. People Will Talk

**In a Pickle**

**Chapter 7: People Will Talk**

"She was sick last week and she's been sick three mornings in a row this week."

Norman Balthus listened as the young woman, Eleanor's niece, he believed, chattered on, obviously anxious to tattle about her employer. Normally, he wouldn't have listened to such, but he had been concerned about Iris lately too. She just hadn't been herself. Besides looking tired and drawn over the past few weeks, she had been quiet and, well, sometimes downright snappish when she did talk.

"It's none of my business," the girl went on. "But I know what makes a woman sick like that in the mornings. I have five kids of my own and I was sick just like that with everyone of them—"

That had Norman's attention. But surely not Iris.

"Becky!" Eleanor scolded, hurrying across the room to join them. "That's enough of that."

Eleanor smiled at Norman nervously, trying to cover her embarrassment. "Sorry, Reverend."

She looked back at Becky sternly. "Shame on you for gossiping about Miss Iris like that." Eleanor hustled the girl out of the room. "Go on back into the kitchen and finish that packing."

The phrase "speak of the devil" was on the tip of Norman's tongue as Iris chose that moment to come down the stairs, looking pale but put together.

"Oh," Eleanor looked flustered, wondering how much Iris had heard. She liked Miss Crowe. The Crowes had been awfully nice to her and her family when they were down on their luck. "Feeling better, Miss Iris?" she ventured.

Iris nodded, "Yes. Thank you, Eleanor."

"We're almost finished with the china."

"Good." With a smile, Eleanor went back to work, satisfied that Miss Iris hadn't been offended by anything she might have overheard.

"I'm sorry you had to wait, Norman. Just let me find my gloves and I'll be ready."

Norman studied his adopted daughter as she rifled through a drawer. He couldn't shake what that girl had said. "So you haven't been feeling well lately?"

"No," she said offhandedly. "Ah-ha, here they are," she said working her fingers into the dark gloves. She noticed that Norman was staring at her. She smiled to herself. That was his concerned face. The one he had worn when she had come down with the mumps at 14, and the same one he had years later as he waved goodbye to his children on the train platform as they headed off to St. Paul. "I'm fine. I think it's just some sort of stomach flu," she reassured.

"Are you sure you are up to the luncheon today?" he asked.

"Yes. Stop worrying. I'll be fine."

"Good." He helped her on with her coat and followed her outside to his car. He was sure it was nothing. Just a stomach flu like she said. Iris was the one he never had to worry about. Justin, well, Justin was concerning him more and more every day with his fanatical ways, charging straight ahead with that radio ministry no matter what the church board said. . .

"Say, little girl, are you still seeing that radio fellow? Dolan, wasn't it?"

"No," she asked with a laugh as he opened the car door for her. "Why do you ask?"

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The tree stood black and solitary against the roiling crimson sky. She struggled to make her way up the hill, grasping and clawing at handfuls of dirt. The rain bit at her skin, and clouded her eyes. Something was bleeding, clotted and dark. It broke apart in her fingers, smearing them scarlet. It came thicker now. A face but not a face, smooth and white and hard like a doll's. The face laughing without moving as it plunged a dagger into the tree. It cries out as its heart is pierced, frantic, mewling cries.

"Miss Iris? Miss Iris, it's Brother Justin on the phone for you."

Eleanor's weathered face hovered in front of hers. Iris brought her hand to her throat to calm her breathing.

"I'm sorry. I must have dosed off." She shuddered, half remembering the nightmare she'd been having, and was truly thankful to Eleanor for waking her up from it.

"Hello?" she called quietly into the receiver, glancing around to make sure she was alone in the hallway.

She smiled, "Hi." It was good to hear his voice. He'd left Sunday night with Tommy Dolan for a week of meetings with sponsors and producers in L.A. It was only Tuesday. And while she had actually looked forward to a few days all to herself . . . it was good to hear his voice.

"I'm glad you called. The phone woke me up from the worst dream," she explained, rubbing at her cheek sleepily. "I can't really remember, just strange." She ran a finger idly down the side of the phone and grimaced distastefully at the dust she found. "It's the same I guess . . . I wouldn't say it's any worse . . . I am fine, really," she scolded halfheartedly. "You sound like Norman." She ran her hand across the velvety material of her robe, just below the tie and smiled. "Hmmm, that's fine too." She heard Eleanor shuffling around. "Oh, it was yesterday . . . I'm glad things are going so good . . . Okay. . . Goodnight, Justin."

"Eleanor!"

A white-blonde head peeked out of the dinning room at her. "How's Brother Justin?"

"Fine. He's just fine," Iris smiled back. "Why don't we call it a night?"

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"You've lost weight," Justin observed. He slid his fingers across her ribs, mapping the contours of each one, to make his point, amazed at how large and gangly his hand looked against the delicate bones.

Iris twitched at the tickling sensation and swatted at his hand, avoiding the question.

Her hand tangled in Justin's hair as his lips replaced his fingers.

"I'm no expert in these matters . . ." She opened her eyes to see his face hovering above hers now, his head propped on his elbow. "But shouldn't you be gaining weight instead of losing it?"

She huffed, there was no other way to describe it, and tugged the sheet up over her.

Justin would have laughed at the childish gesture but—she looked ill. Dark circles under her eyes, in sharp contrast to her blanched skin. Skin that felt clammy where her thigh lay next to his. She shivered and he watched as her hand clutched the sheet with a tremor.

"Is something wrong besides the morning sickness?"

"I can't sleep," she said wearily. "I-I keep having these awful . . . nightmares. But they don't feel like dreams—"

"They feel real," he finished. Real like the tight knot of guilt burning in his chest, and real like the decision that had to be made soon.

She nodded, "They feel like drowning."

She laughed, then grimaced as he shifted over her, draping his torso across hers and groping at the floor beside the bed.

"Ughh, _you_ haven't lost any weight, Justin Crowe," she pushed at his shoulder.

She felt him laugh, but couldn't see his face. "What are you doing?"

He "reappeared" holding a clump of white cotton and lace. "Hold up your arms." She did as he said and he tugged her nightgown over her head and arms in a strange reversal of their childhood positions.

She relaxed a little as he gathered her to him, his chest against her back, curling protectively around her.

Her father's hand, grabbing her by the arm, encircles it completely, leaving a powdery purple ring in its place. His hand—her hand. Plunging, stabbing. Lightening split the tree and broke apart the sky. Spatters of blood down her arms, like bruises, like burns. The tree, the sky—she cries out. Drowned out by a baby's choking fury ringing out over the valley.

She jolted awake and looked wildly about the darkened room. The sound of her name gradually replaced the sound of the crying, thumping in her ears. He was kissing her face, her neck, brushing his hands over her damp chest, down her arms. Gestures she had taught him—touches meant to soothe and distract. Face against his neck, she mumbled into his pulse something about father—the tree—blood.

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Iris blinked against the light shining in her eyes—the glint from a flashbulb reflecting in the sun. She stood amongst the enrapt crowd listening to Justin's voice vibrating through the once empty valley, dedicating the new temple in memory of the children who died, the martyrs she had founded their ministry on. She met his eyes as he recited their names. Blue eyes burning into hers. _"Irina, how could you?" _Swallowed up by black.

The light burnt sharply into her pupils. She tried to close her eyes; something held them open. Iris shook her head and squinted up into a blurry face. "Ahh, Miss Crowe, can you hear me?"

Everything around her, sterile and white and cold.

"Miss Crowe. You fainted. You are at the hospital now. I am Doctor Martin. You were unconscious for a few hours. I need you to look at me. Try to focus, Miss Crowe."

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"Now, Miss Crowe, care to tell me how you got in this state?" the doctor said patronizingly.

Iris stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

Confusion writ across his face as it had hers. "Oh, no. Not that state," he chuckled as if it were funny. "But I know about that one too. How did you get so run down and exhausted that you collapsed?"

"I haven't been feeling well . . ."

"Obviously." More humor.

"And I haven't been able to sleep," she continued. "I've been busy helping with the move—of the church and our house."

"I see. Now about that other state, you know you should take better care of yourself . . ."

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"And just what are you implying, Norman?"

A nurse looked up from her station to glare at Justin's raised voice.

"Calm down. I'm not _implying_ anything. I'm _asking_ you if there was something going on between that Dolan man and Iris . . . maybe while you were gone?"

"No."

"I know she keeps saying that it was just a bug but, if he took advantage of her—"

"If my sister says this is just a passing illness, then I believe her," he said sternly. "After all, you raised us better than that, Norman." Norman missed the smirk that played across Justin's mouth as he turned and headed for the nurse's station to see when Iris was being released.

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Norman insisted on seeing them home. He watched Iris closely, with a mixture of concern and suspicion that grated on Justin's already frayed nerves. Iris herself seemed too exhausted to notice. After she was tucked away in her room to rest, Norman left with a weighted look and a heavy sigh.

Now Justin paused at her door, laying his palm flat against the wood, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He breathed deeply and rubbed at the tension in his neck before entering.

Iris was sitting up in bed propped against the headboard, toying with the edge of the quilt that covered her lap. Noting that the color was slowly returning to her face, Justin smiled softly at her, before beginning to pace around the room.

"Justin, what's wrong?" she asked apprehensively. She knew him well enough to know that he was struggling with something.

"This isn't going to work, Iris," he said quietly, pausing, seemingly frozen in the middle of the room.

Confusion marred her forehead. "What do you mean?" He finally met her eyes and held them, communicating as always so much without saying a word. Her lips parted and she squared her jaw. "We have to make it work."

"I wish there was another way," he continued, beginning to pace again. "I thought we could hide it—but today proves we can't."

"And just what are you suggesting?" she asked, struggling to keep the hint of fear and growing anger out of her voice.

He stepped towards the window and moved the curtain, looking out into the street.

"Justin."

"I think you should marry Tommy Dolan." The words hung in the air between them.

"What?" she asked finally, almost laughing in her disbelief.

He let the curtain trail from his hand and looked down at the floor, shaking his head.

"Have you lost your mind, Justin?" She made no attempt to hide the anger welling up in her now.

"There isn't any other way, _Iris_," he answered sternly, his voice taking on an irritated edge. His eyes flashed up to meet hers, boring into her.

She faced down his stare, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "You're serious?" She still couldn't quite believe what he was asking her to do. But as he continued to look intently at her, she knew that he had made up his mind. Panic overwhelmed her. Iris threw off the quilt and came to stand next to him, grasping his arm. "Do you think you can just give me away?" Her words were thick with hurt and resentment.

"You will marry him."

"No." She stared up at him, breathing hard, trying to find some way to convince him. Finally, she leaned in close to him and spoke. "You won't mind another man touching me, making love to me?" He looked away from her, focusing his gaze on the cross hanging over the bed. "No, look me in the eyes. Look at me and tell me, Alexsei." At the sound of his name, he looked back at her, clenching his jaw with emotion. "Tell me you won't mind that another man calls your child his own."

He took her roughly by the shoulders, causing her to gasp in surprise, and commanded, "You _will_ do as I say." He watched as she flinched at his tone. He knew that his hands were hurting her, that they would leave bruises in their wake. Justin closed his eyes and swallowed. When we spoke again, his voice had softened and his grasp turned to a caress, running his hands down her arms. "Please, Irina. Just do what I'm asking."

She stepped back away from him, out of his reach and covered her eyes with her hand.

He watched as her chest rose and fell unsteadily and knew that she was close to tears.

"Get out," she whispered.

He tried to touch her arm, wanted suddenly more than anything to draw her into his arms, but she shook off his touch and retreated farther from him, shaking her head.

He turned and left, slamming the door behind him, leaving her alone to collapse on the bed, hot tears burning down her cheeks.


	8. Tainted Saints

Chapter 8: Tainted Saints

"So am I to gather that congratulations are in order?" Justin called cheerfully, settling down into his chair.

Iris, appearing every inch the grateful woman who had finally been rescued from the dreaded fate of spinsterhood, smiled and waved again as Tommy got into his car.

As she splayed her fingers against the door and gave it an exaggerated push closed, the smile lingered on her lips but something else had surfaced in her eyes.

She turned and studied her brother, sitting there. Looking at her expectantly, nonplussed, as if he had just asked her no more than had the mail come yet.

Her anger was palpable, like particles of dust floating in slats of light, foreign and noxious, yet impossible not to swallow in your next breath, and Justin was not unaffected by it.

"What did you do to him? To make him believe that we—" She asked sounding strangely calm as she crossed the room. Justin quirked his mouth, about to retort, but she cut him off. "No," she shook her head and bent to clear up the glasses from the coffee table. "No, I don't think I want to know after all."

Justin tapped the back of his finger against his lips. "I'm sure Norman will be able to perform the ceremony at the end of the week," he called out to her over the faint sound of the running tap. He smiled smugly at the heavy sound of her footsteps crossing the kitchen tiles. Now came the outburst—no more of this quiet, seething martyrdom she favored of late.

But instead of the expected curse in their mother tongue, came her words warm at his ear, her mouth almost touching his skin—"Norman? Don't you want to do the honors yourself?"

Pleased with the nearly imperceptible twitch in Justin's jaw, Iris rose from beside him, the nails of her right hand kneaded into the rough sleeve of his jacket at his forearm, the other hand—trailing feather light along the nape of his neck.

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Iris sat awkwardly on the side of her bed, loosening her robe and shrugging her shoulders to let it fall behind her. She felt Tommy's hand caress her shoulder, his fingers toying with the strap of her gown—felt him brush her hair away from her neck and kiss her softly in its wake. Despite the obvious tenderness in the gesture, she fought the urge to cringe away from his touch. She closed her eyes, steeling herself as his kisses became more insistent against her skin.

She had every intention of letting Tommy make love to her. She wanted Justin to hear. Every creak of the mattress, every moan, every sigh. To hear what he had done.

But when Tommy's hand fell to her breast, it felt painfully alien. She couldn't, not yet. "Tommy." He only mumbled against her ear, nipping with his teeth at her earlobe. "Tommy, don't." She shrugged away from him and turned her head to face him. "I can't." Confusion knitted his brow, only to be replaced by playful determination as he bent to kiss her shoulder again. She placed her hand on the side of his face to make him look at her. "I just can't tonight."

"Why not? We are married now," he said and kissed her just below her ear. "And besides," he whispered, sliding his hand down her stomach, "it's not as if we haven't done this before." Guilt burnt at the back of her throat as she was struck once again at how thoroughly Justin had manipulated Tommy's mind.

"I know and we will. I promise," she cajoled, taking his hand in hers and moving it to lie between them. "But not tonight, not here."

He looked at her, a confused frown replacing his usual boyish grin.

"Justin is right down the hall," she explained, surprised that her spiteful resolve to punish her brother had deserted her so completely.

He grinned again and laughed. "We can be quiet—or at least we can try."

Her eyes widened unconsciously at the insinuation. "It wouldn't be right," she insisted.

"He'd understand."

"_I_ wouldn't feel right," she said finally. "Please just do this for me."

He looked at her then shook his head ruefully. "Whatever makes you happy."

"Thank you," she said and meant it. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.

He groaned, as she pulled away from him. "Are you sure?" he laughed.

"Yes," she answered, laughing half-heartedly along with him.

"Okay, okay," he said before flopping back in the bed and rolling over to the other side to make room for her. "I'm sorry we had to postpone our trip until tomorrow afternoon. But better the engineer caught the problem with the radio towers now than after they had actually gone up."

"Yes, I suppose it is." She turned off the lamp and crawled into bed.

"And when we come home next week, we'll be in the new house . . ."

Iris lay stiffly, unable to relax in the familiar surroundings. She was glad it was dark so that Tommy couldn't see her flinch when his arm fell over her. Since childhood, she had only ever slept with one person next to her—the tickle of Alexsei's soft hair against her chin as he tucked his head into her neck and clung to her after a nightmare--only ever felt the weight of one person's arm draped possessively across her—Justin drawing her close in the night, his thumb brushing sleepily against the underside of her breast.

She listened to the unfamiliar sounds of Tommy's breathing until she knew he had fallen asleep. She still dreaded falling into the nightmare world of her dreams, but tonight she worried selfishly over her own future and not the dark destiny of Justin and their child.

Finally after what must have been hours, she carefully rose from the bed and slipped quietly from the room—not even bothering to find her robe in the dark, ignoring the chill that crept across her skin.

She walked to Justin's door and paused, considering, then, slipped down the stairs like a resolute specter, to make her way to the living room.

Just as she knew she would, Iris found her brother sitting in his chair—still dressed in his white shirt and suspenders. A single lamp burnt beside him, faintly illuminating the room and casting ominous shadows against the walls.

A book lay open in his lap but Justin's face was buried in his hand. She hovered in the doorway willing him to look at her. As bidden, he glanced up and saw her standing in the shadows. Barefoot, she walked silently across the cold floor to stand in front of him, between his open knees. Neither spoke, and the sound of their breathing filled the room like the melody of a familiar song that fades forgotten into the background. His eyes flickered down to where her thigh brushed against his, before rising to stare at her as if expecting to see a stranger in his sister's place. His eyes searched her for the response to the question he dreaded to have answered, the one that lay forcefully mute without, but deafening within. The curve of her hip encased in pale peach silk—the shallow valley between her breasts—the amber hair kissing her dappled shoulders—all deceitfully familiar he feared.

Iris's eyes never left his as she lifted her gown up and over her head to stand naked before him, a glowing offering in the dark room, the unexpected answer to his question. Justin's hands shot out and surrounded her, greedily pulling her to him. His mouth found her breast and slipped below it to discover the hard outline of a rib, biting and pulling the skin into his mouth.

"Alexsei, don't leave a mark. He'll see." Even as she spoke, her traitorous hands belied her words as they tangled in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp.

His only response was to gnash his teeth until the honey taste of her gave way to sweet acrid blood. Finally, when she moaned, surrendering her weight into his arms, he moved his mouth to her stomach, then farther down to rest his face against the barely perceptible swelling there.

In one swift movement he lifted her up until she was straddling his lap. His response to her familiar weight overwhelming and immediate, as if the burning need were conditioned, his hips bucked against her. She leaned into him, laying her face against his, then trailed small wet kisses from his temple to the corner of his mouth. She teased his lips with hers, barely brushing them then retreating. He moaned and snaked his hand against her throat to force her mouth towards his. She leaned away from him and he reluctantly released her, only to have her swoop back down and almost kiss him again. She licked instead at the skin just above his collar, before beginning to unbutton his shirt. As she pushed her hand through the errant red curls that had fallen to obscure her face as she worked, Justin's attention was drawn to the gold band now encircling her finger. He had done this himself, had given her away in the eyes of God and man. He closed his eyes to block out the taunting glint as her fingers deftly undid the remaining buttons of his shirt—he obligingly moved his arms when she slid his suspenders over his shoulders, tried to control his labored breathing when her hands fell to his belt.

The wedding ring around her finger forgotten as her fingers encircled him, he opened his eyes to watch the smooth shift of muscle along her thighs as she rose up. His hands clutched desperately to her hips as she slid down the length of him. She leaned her face into his, caressing his lips with her breath. When her tongue darted out to taste his lower lip, he thrust roughly into her, managing to ambush her mouth with a punishing kiss before she could protest.

Her eyes, dark blue and cloudy with arousal, focused on his as she bit down on her bottom lip to stifle a moan, as they rocked against one another.

"Irina . . ."

The sound of her name scratched at the back of her neck and lapped at her breast—

"'Ira . . ."

--Slid across her thigh and settled in the heat between her legs.

He watched hypnotized as she leaned away from him, arching her back, her breasts and ribs jutting out towards him, rising and falling with each of his movements.

"He'll never know your name . . ."

Her lips barely parted and her eyes clenched tight in concentration as she met each of his thrusts.

"Irina . . ."

Her hand, fingers trembling, dug into her own thigh--

"'Ira . . ."

--then strained against her stomach before falling between their bodies to trace frantic circles into her own slick heat.

"My 'Ira . . . mine forever."

As he felt the muscles in her back go rigid and her legs seizing around his, he put his hand over her mouth, just in time to bury the sound as she screamed out.

She was his own tainted saint, in an ecstasy no less holy than terrible.

His own rhythm became frenzied as she melted exhausted and sated against his chest.

"I am yours always," she breathed against his ear. "Alexsei—" Her words were starting to slur and become faintly accented. She faced him again, both struggling to keep their eyes focused on the other. "My first and you'll be my last . . ."

As his hands dug into the sensitive skin along the ridge of her hipbones, holding her still against him as he finally poured himself into her, she kissed him, sliding her tongue along the roof of his mouth and swallowing the sound of her name.

"My Alpha and Omega . . ."

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Justin held his sister curled up in his lap, a small throw from the couch wrapped around her to ward off the chill in the air that crept through the silk of her gown. She buried her face against his neck as he stroked her back. As her body relaxed against his and her breathing softened, Justin knew that she was finally falling asleep. He said a silent prayer to whoever was listening that she would sleep without dreaming.

The sound of a stair creaking shattered the peaceful silence that had fallen over the house. Since they had moved in years ago, the second step from the top had always announced itself. Justin looked towards the stairs, both alarm and annoyance written across his face, as Iris jerked in his arms at the sound.

Startled, Iris quickly stood up, pulling the blanket more closely around her, and moved to put distance between herself and her brother.

"What's going on down here?" Tommy asked, yawning, from the bottom of the stairs.

Iris looked up at him. She was thankful for the scant light in the room that hid the expression of guilt playing across her face. "I couldn't sleep so I came down here," Iris explained, trying to make her voice sound even. "And Justin is always up late preparing for his sermons," she added with a small laugh, walking across the floor to stand beside him.

"Oh," Tommy said, still looking somewhat hesitantly at the two of them.

Iris slipped her arm through his, and caught his hand in hers. "I guess I'm not used to having company in bed," she whispered to him. The smile that had started to creep across Tommy's face was cut of by the sound of Justin's book smacking down against the table. They both turned to see him walking towards them.

"Goodnight, Iris," Justin said, kissing her chastely on the forehead. She closed her eyes and fought back the tremor that threatened to overwhelm her, a lingering aftershock set off by his simple gesture. Justin stared down at her for a beat then looked at Tommy and smiled graciously. "Tommy." He disappeared into the darkness and up the stairs.

"Goodnight," Tommy called after him.

"You look flushed," he said, turning his attention back to his new wife. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said forcing a smile. "Just nerves I think."

He nodded at her, taking her words at face value. "Shall we?" he asked motioning towards the stairs.


End file.
